


ashes in your hair remind me

by Satan In Purple (purple_satan)



Category: Fringe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, What-If, impossible otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_satan/pseuds/Satan%20In%20Purple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Lincoln doesn't know just how important he is.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	ashes in your hair remind me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [underwater, breathing out and in](https://archiveofourown.org/works/561466) by [monanotlisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monanotlisa/pseuds/monanotlisa). 



> more what-if’s and could-have-been universes. poorly written fanfic inspired by elfin & monanotlisa’s much better quality Lincoln/Etta fics. obviously liberties have been taken and are obvious.

_dust to dust, ashes in your hair remind me_   
_what it feels like and i won't feel again._

_night descends…_   
_could i have been a better person if i could only do it all again?_

\--  


It’s a hazy Tuesday morning when it happens, Olivia has already left for work in the middle of the night, comm beeping in some emergency Fringe event he doesn’t have to report to until they’ve assessed the situation. He’s pulling on his Fringe Division regs and checking his hair one more time when the man appears as a reflection in his bathroom mirror, startling him enough for him to drop the glasses Peter gave him. They hit the ground with a stomach turning crack and Lincoln knows they’ll have to be replaced or he’ll end up getting the surgery to correct his vision, another piece of his former self lost.

Even though things are a bit blurry, he still instinctively reaches for his gun just as the Observer takes off his hat, hand on the holster as the man looks at him quizzically.

“Lincoln Tyrone Lee,” he begins. “Fringe agent. Former FBI agent. Your double deceased. You are… not from here.”

Lincoln’s hand still hasn’t left his gun.

“His death, these events. They were… unforeseen.” The Observer tilts his head, stares just enough to make a shiver run up his spine. There is something massively weird about these guys Lincoln can’t put his finger on, and it’s not just the suits and bald hair and popping up from random times.

“You were not supposed to stay here.”

“The hell I’m not,” Lincoln finally replies tartly, tired of hearing people and now Observer’s opinions on the subject. “What do you want?”

“To show you something,” the Observer says, moving slightly towards him. “It seems another grave mistake has been made in the timeline. You have ended up here due to a series of circumstances that never should have happened. This event... has irrevocably altered everything that is to come.”

He pauses for a moment, thoughtful and Lincoln uses the opportunity to finally get a handle on the situation.

“Are you the same one that was helping us earlier? The Observer that got shot?”

The Observer just stares at him blankly.

_Okay, guess not._

“That question is not relevant.”

Lincoln glares at him hard before conceding to the fact the man probably is not there to harm him. He drops his hand from his weapon and finally settles down on Olivia’s couch, making no motion for the other man to do the same. The man still ends up sitting on the other couch, sets his briefcase down on the tea table and opens it and a gentle hum fills the room.

“This is… disorienting for your kind. It is advised you stay seated.”

Before Lincoln can ask what the hell he’s talking about everything begins to blur and then goes black.

  


_It’s a balmy day at the park, Olivia has packed them sandwiches and is lying out on the grass next to Peter smiling as her hair shines like spun gold in the sunlight. Lincoln has mostly gotten over what never happened with them but its moments like this he still can’t take his eyes off of her, captivated by her radiant beauty, until he lays eyes on the small child playing in the distance that looks so much like her._

_Peter is watching Etta and Astrid a couple yards away, a grin plastered on his face as well. Etta is picking dandelions and pulling their petals off in between bouts of Astrid spinning her around in circles on the green grass._

_And Lincoln is there, not a third (or fourth) wheel but also not an equal. At least it’s not so bad now. He’s got his own apartment now that Olivia and Peter live together, comes over for dinner and watches Etta with Astrid on the rare days they want to go out. He’s taken Astrid out on a couple of dates and things seem to look promising. Life has fallen into a comfortable routine and Fringe Divison is downright quiet since the bridge to the other side has closed._

_He’d be relieved if he didn’t know the terrible price closing the bridge came with._

_This is their life, picturesque until it isn’t._

  


The Observer is right, he wasn’t supposed to stay. He was supposed to go back to his world, watch Peter and Olivia live their lives and deal with being their shadow, work cases, be a godfather to their tiny daughter Etta. A normal life and normal days until the day the Observers came. He was there with them, reading a book when the first anti-matter detonation went off, leveling the tall building. The fear in Peter’s eyes, the four of them shouting and running to Etta, Astrid reaching her just as the first wave of Observers appeared.

After that everything went to hell in a hand basket. He moved back in with Peter and Olivia practically all but moved out. Walter began the descent back into solitude and obsession, despite Astrid’s intervention. Peter and Olivia’s relationship hit the skids. And late one night after a harrowing day, as tempting as the offer of Olivia’s bed finally was, he declined it.

(He did sleep with Peter later though, his ruthless pursuit of Lincoln after losing Olivia finally rewarded with a clash of teeth and tongues one night. He let him because he knew at least with Peter they wouldn’t talk about it ever again.)

After what seems like forever he falls somewhere in the middle of their team once again, and other than the whole oppressive alien race taking over, things feel kind of like they were back to how they were, minus the gloom of Etta being gone, anyway.

_And that’s how he ended up back in his world and trapped in amber until 2036._

  


The Observer shows him pieces of a life not lived, a dystopia not yet created, the beginning of the end. Things are different, and yet somehow the same as he stares at the skyline, tall buildings coming out of the ground like dragon’s teeth, sharp and gleaming in rows. Neon signs litter the street corners, both Observer and Resistance propaganda tacked up haphazardly in between. Street vendors hawk sticks of preserved meats and outdated tech and as much science fiction he read as a kid, Gibson and Dick, Heinlein and even some Hubbard, this isn’t the future Lincoln ever imagined.

This is not his world either.

But in this world there is also a petite girl, older now but still blond haired and blue-eyed and with a smile far too easy for him to recognize. And while Olivia and Peter try to catch up on over 20 years of a missed life, Lincoln stays in the background quiet as a mouse, watching cautiously as Henrietta Bishop toys with him like an amused cat.

He knows what happened to her last partner, was there when it happened. The device broke after they got him out, only adding to Lincoln’s guilt. He wonders if all of this might be some sort of way for her to cope as he watches his future self’s defenses fall down all around yet another Dunham woman completely useless, littering the ground like shed clothes.

  


_Etta’s self-satisfied smirk at Lincoln after the first time they have sex reminds him of the other universe’s Olivia and it’s only then he has a flash of guilt and wonders what happened to their world, the world he almost lived in. Considering what Peter has told him about previous timeline rewrites he realizes that he probably doesn’t want the answer to that question._

_It’s late at night, only the slightest flicker of lights slanting through the blinds and in this twilight he’s deep in thought about the past enough it surprises him when Etta stirs again and begins licking a path up his neck before rolling them over, her blond hair framing her face as she smiles down at him naked and perfect, cheeks already flushed from her first orgasm of the night. She rocks her hips against his wantonly and he can feel himself getting hard again as she swivels her hips knowingly._

_“Hey,” she says, cupping his face with delicate hands, thumbs tracing under his jawbone before moving back to his lips. “Hey you.”_

_“Hi,” he replies, kissing her fingertips and smiling back at her, toying with the silver chain around her neck briefly before letting her smile settle into his memory again, and into his skin as she bites a trail down his clavicle. And then she’s tracing a path down his torso and any thoughts of a universe other than the one in her bedroom disappear like smoke from the barrel of a gun when she touches him, banishing them into the furthest depths of his mind and then they’re gone completely._

  


Henrietta Bishop’s smiling face is the first thing Lincoln sees when they revive him. He gasps for air before a syringe is painfully jabbed into his neck and then finally the frantic feeling of breathing underwater disappears completely.

“Where-” he gasps, eyes wild, but Etta just runs a tender hand down his cheek and smiles at him again.

_Hold on there, easy now._

_Breathe, Lincoln._

_Breathe._

He does, but everything is still murky. He’s breathing in air mixed with her sweet scent as he gets lost and then finally passes out completely.

  


Unfortunately Lincoln’s arrival into 2036 is not without a price. The team is a man down after their amber releasing tech breaks and they have already had a near miss from being caught. Olivia is still missing, and Walter has the rather macabre severed and ambered hand of William Bell stashed away in his bag.

The five of them are somber, adjusting to this new reality (some better than others), as Lincoln picks his way from Astrid and Walter to the back of the train, watching as the younger blond girl with them looks blankly at the passing landscape, sullen and withdrawn, and in the corner of his eye he can see Peter watching her silently. Something pangs in his chest because he knows all too well the grief of losing a partner and what she’s going through. The wishing there was something you could have done, something you still can do, and feeling powerless to change the situation.

“Hey,” Lincoln says to her. There’s not much he can say to her that doesn’t sound trite despite having gone through the same process, so he just settles down near her quietly letting her know he’s there. He wonders if maybe she blames him, and after a couple moments of silence she turns from the window and eyes him critically, before turning and moving away. He reflexively catches her elbow, not letting her sulk off.

“You saved my life,” he says appraisingly, gently letting go of her. “You saved all of our lives. You gave us another chance to save the world.”

“ Maybe you’ll do the same one day, Lincoln Lee,” she replies, one corner of her mouth lifting in an almost smile.

“I’m sorry about Agent Foster.”

“Me too,” she bites out and her icy tone is every bit as bitter as his was to Olivia the day Robert died.

“I lost a very close partner once too,” he says quietly, getting up from where they are seated so she can have her space again. “If you want to talk I’m here for you.”

“Okay,” she replies automatically, but her eyes go from looking at him to over his shoulder where Peter is. “Sure.”

  


_He watches as Etta’s fingers stroke the amber in front of her thoughtfully and he sees a figure in front of her impossible not to recognize._

_Simon and Etta have already released Dr. Bishop a while ago and Simon is now working on freeing the woman who was next to him, Astrid, but Etta clearly only has eyes for the man in the suit in front of her. She trails her fingers down the line of his jaw, traces the frame of his glasses slightly enraptured and not exactly sure why. He doesn’t look familiar to her, face not popping up in the file but she somehow can feel his familiarity and sense his importance to the resistance as she stands in front of him, breath ghosting so close, only millimeters away on the glassy surface of the amber._

_“Who is he?” She asks, tapping her fingers on the amber and turning to Dr. Bishop who is picking thoughtfully through what tech is still salvageable. Simon’s busy getting the equipment ready to free the first Fringe team member, handing her the control head for the buffers, but she can’t resist asking Dr. Bishop the question that’s been on her mind since they arrived at the scene and she saw the man frozen in amber in front of her, eyes squeezed tightly shut behind his glasses, the bow of his lips in a small grimace. He’s beautiful, perfectly preserved from the harsh world for 20 years, not a hair out of place from the day he got stuck._

_Me._

_“Why that’s Agent Kennedy,” Dr. Bishop replies delightfully. “Oh, do we have chess in the future? He was superb at chess.”_

_It’s hard not to chuckle at Walter’s offbeat reply as Etta shrugs at his non sequitur, not exactly sure what type of game chess is. She begins powering up the device so they can get Astrid out of the amber and Simon positions himself in place so they can blast her out. It’s a success and Dr. Bishop ends up catching Astrid in his arms with a grin, Etta at the ready with the same cardio-pulmonary drug to stabilize her breathing._

_“Astro!” Walter exclaims as Astrid looks up at him hazily, taking a shuddering breath._

_“Walter?” She asks weakly, trying to take a step before nearly collapsing. He gently leads her to a chair as Simon and Etta confer on who is to be taken out next. The machine is already starting to act up and he thinks that Peter is the next one they should take out in case it breaks all together, or even wait to find Olivia but Etta disagrees._

_“That one,” Etta says, and no one misses the finality in her voice as she points straight at Lincoln. “He’s next.”_

Oh.

  


The Observer shows him a future where Henrietta Bishop becomes the center of his life in a short period of time, shorter than any other girl he’s ever been with in the past, anyway. He watches as her sidelong glances transform into ones mutually shared and gentle reassurances turn into longer, bolder touches after assignments. Normally he’d try the gentlemanly approach and woo her properly, but there really isn’t time for things like dates in between searching for the materials in Dr. Bishop’s tapes and the watchful eyes of her daddy dearest, who quickly catches on that something is afoot between his daughter and his best friend.

It’s late one night in the lab only a few days after their first rather chaste kiss and Peter and Lincoln are working on extracting the newest tape so Astrid can finally catch a break from the lab with Olivia. Tension has been high between Peter and Olivia, so being around Peter has been hit or miss the last couple days and he’s not entirely surprised when Peter finally confronts him.

“I know you’re a good guy, Lincoln. A hell of a good guy. Better than me.”

_Uh, okay Peter…_

“With that said, you know that if you hurt her, I know dozens of ways to kill a man if she doesn’t kill you first,” he says conversationally, not even looking up from the tape, and Lincoln blinks owlishly behind the glasses Peter gave him. The couple times he played out this inevitable conversation in his mind death threats weren’t exactly how he thought the conversation with his best friend would go.

“Okay,” Lincoln replies, because there isn’t much to say. He promised Peter he’d be there to protect Etta when he became her godfather a lifetime ago and at least that much hasn’t changed. He would never hurt her, intentionally or otherwise.

“Okay,” Peter finishes just as Olivia pops her head in the room, the wry look on her face immediately telling she’s heard their conversation and doesn’t approve.

“Peter.”

Olivia looks like she’s about ready to chastise him, an exasperated look on her face, but before any of them can say any more Etta walks in as well.

“Peter, she’s not a little girl anymore. She hasn’t-” Olivia halts and glances at Lincoln before turning to Etta, who’s quickly figuring out the situation. “She hasn’t needed our… intervention for a long time.”

Etta glances at her mom, then Lincoln and raises an eyebrow before finally rolling her eyes at her dad.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, dad,” she replies sarcastically before catching Lincoln’s hand in hers and practically dragging him out the door. “You come with me.”

Her hand is small and warm in his and _oh so_ soft, but her grip is firm and all he can do is comply as she leads him out of the lab, catching Astrid’s grin and Walter’s thumbs up along the way.

  


They are in the corridor some doors down when she finally stops practically dragging him behind her. She drops his hand from hers but her fingers find the collar of the jacket they gave him, smoothing the edges of it down as she stares at the ground, cheeks flaming red in embarrassment.

“Sorry about that touching display of paternal overprotectiveness from dad.”

“It’s okay. Really,” he replies, since he really didn’t expect much less from Peter. She nods her head and he brushes back her beautiful blond hair, running his fingers gently through the silky strands in a soothing gesture as she loosens up.

“Does any of this bother you? I know it’s kind of-” She begins, a serious look on her face he knows well because it’s the same one her mother has often.

“Different? Sudden? Weird? Only a little,” he replies with a laugh before folding her into his arms and holding her closer when she winces at his words. “Not the thing with Peter, I mean.”

“Etta,” he begins with a sigh, note exactly sure how to word his thoughts. “When I last saw you, you were three. I remember Astrid changing your diapers and feeding you baby food. To me it only feels like it was a year and a half ago. You have to understand it is a bit disconcerting connecting you two as the same person on top of all the other stuff going on.”

“Yeah, I know. Hey, I don’t remember you being there, Linc’. But these,” she taps the frame of his glasses. “These seem really familiar.”

“It’s probably better that you don’t remember. Less weirdness at least for one of us,” he replies with a smile before leaning back and tilting her chin up to kiss her.

“Okay _godfather_ ,” Etta adds sarcastically, but then he begins kissing her thoroughly and effectively stops any more she was planning on adding to the conversation.

  


And the rest of what he sees, it’s mostly a lot of that. A handful of stolen moments with a beautiful girl, until he sees the day she dies eerily superimposed over her not dying, because he is there to protect her like he promised Peter he would.

The team is running for their life after their biggest break so far, meeting with the very aged and still very commanding (Colonel?) Broyles, but the reunion gets quickly cut by the appearance of Observers that tracked them there. Lincoln watches as they run to the abandoned warehouse nearby, watches helplessly as Windmark finds Etta alone and chokes her, pressing her up against the wall and questioning her about her necklace. The one with the bullet Walter shot Olivia with to save the world that’s on the chain he and Peter went to buy just earlier that day. He knows the necklace well, having been present for all the events as well as toyed with the bullet on its chain she never takes off. Windmark’s obsession with it is a new development, however.

Etta does something and Windmark stills. The necklace ends up being enough of a distraction for Windmark that when he steps back Lincoln fires two clear shots, aiming well for his head. Always a second ahead, Windmark dematerializes, but at least he takes the bullets with him, leaving him staring at a wide-eyed Etta as she gasps for air and slumps to the ground. Her breath hitches and she lets out a strangled sob as Lincoln drops his gun and crosses the distance between them to hold her, pushing her hair back and kissing her hard, a million unsaid words in one kiss and the knife sharp memory of weeks ago on a train when she said with a small smile that maybe one day he’d save her life too.

Olivia and Peter run in the room just as they break away, Peter practically pushing him out of the way to rush to her and pulling Etta into his arms, holding her tightly. Lincoln’s too numb with shock to move or protest, just watches as Peter holds her, whispering something fiercely in his daughter’s ear that makes her nod fervently at him.

“I know, Lincoln. I know.”

He jumps, startled by Olivia’s warm hand on his shoulder. Turning to see her face, he sees a mother’s expression of fear at losing their child, her relief and her approval. It’s only then he finally lets out the breath he had been holding before leaning in to Olivia’s gentle words and soothing touch.

  


_Except he also_ wasn’t _there._

_Etta gets shot because there’s no one with her as back up and there’s blood running down her shirt, too much blood. It’s pooling to the ground already by the time her parents get there and Lincoln wants to slam his fists against something because it’s one thing seeing a life he doesn’t get to live but it’s unfair it’s his fault she doesn’t get to live the life she was supposed to either._

_He gets to see Peter and Olivia fall apart again, as if one time wasn’t enough, the taste of revenge palpable on his tongue as he watches Peter torture the captured Observer, watches Olivia slip even further away. It comes to a head when he sees Peter’s descent as he pulls the tech out of the Observer’s head. He already knows what’s going to happen next when he’s sees Peter with the scalpel, but still doesn’t want to see the future playing out in front of him. He doesn’t want to watch the people he loves fall apart around him again, doesn’t want to look up to the unfamiliar horizon and see the banners on the buildings with Etta’s ghostly face haunting them all._

_RESIST._

_If only._

  


“Why are you doing this?” Lincoln asks, wincing at his newfound migraine when Olivia’s apartment finally swims back into focus, frustrated that he’s getting this message far too late.

He knows from both stories and personal experience it’s not the first time an Observer tried to intervene and didn’t arrive at the correct time, but it still stings to see them meddle with time and all the lives not lived play out before him, his hands tied helplessly. There’s nothing he can do about it now, his decision to stay over here instead of going back home already solidified by the destruction of the bridge.

“It has already begun. When this universe collapses you will be given a choice you must make. What I have shown you… one is similar to a future if you do, and one if you do not.”

“Wait,” Lincoln breathes out wide-eyed and it sounds every bit as panicky as he feels when he realizes what the man in from of him just said. “ _This_ universe is going to collapse? What about all the people in it? Don’t they need saving too?”

“Why did you show me that?” He demands, head now throbbing, but the man just continues staring at him un-phased as ever.

“This universe… that is not something I can change, nor can you,” the Observer replies, closing his briefcase. He puts on his hat before looking at Lincoln. “I must go.”

“Your colleague is due to arrive in one minute and 58 seconds. She will be calling you in 24 seconds. Think about what I have shown you.”

“But-” Lincoln begins, reaching out for him, so many questions unanswered as his comm begins beeping, Olivia on the line. He lets it go and glances at the other couch, but the man has already vanished as quickly as he came.

  


_and the longing that you feel…_   
_you know none of this is real._

_you_ will _find a better a place._


End file.
